The Poet
by x Lost Hero x
Summary: What if Sweeney tried to kill a poet for Mrs. Lovett to use in her meat pies? OneShot.


**Author's Note: Okay, I'm back with my second Sweeney fic! In this fic Sweeney tried to kill a poet. He thinks he succeeds but Mrs. Lovett finds otherwise. I got the idea from the song "A Little Priest." Haha. Anyways, read and review! Enjoy!

* * *

**The small bell above the door chimed as a young man walked into the barber's shop. A simple shave was all the man wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sweeney Todd turned away from the huge window and looked at the man. "Mornin' lad," he said, strolling over to the infamous chair. Leaning against the chair he eyed the young man. "Wot can I do fer you today, sir?" Mr. Todd asked.

"I'd jus' like a trim o' me beard."

"Jus' a trim?"

"Yes."

"Sit, sir. Sit," Sweeney said, motioning to his chair.

The man sat down and Sweeney draped the white sheet around his victim's body. Then Mr. Todd turned and grabbed his trusty razor. Out of the corner of his eye, Sweeney saw the picture of Lucy and Johanna. Their happy faces watched him getting ready for another job, another murder.

Mr. Todd turned around and began to lather the man's face with cream. "Wot do you do fer a living, my boy?" Sweeney asked.

"I'm a poet," he said, sighing. Then the poet closed his eyes.

"A poet, eh? Me partner, Mrs. Lovett, loves poets. After yer shave you should scurry down there fer a nice, juicy, meat pie. 'Tis delicious."

The man smiled. "I'll be sure ta do that, then," he said.

"Yes. I'll make sure you head down an' see Mrs. Lovett," Sweeney murmured under his breath. His hand glided along the man's face, trimming the poet's beard. Longingly, Sweeney's hand caressed the man's throat.

_Jus' a few more strokes an' 'is all yers, _Sweeney thought to himself. He continued to work, doing his finest work.

When he was all done Sweeney smiled and cleaned the man up.

"There. Yer all done," he said, wiping the poet's face with a towel.

"Thank you, sir. Thank you."

"Yer welcome, me boy. But wait, I forgot one lil' spot there," Sweeney said. He leaned over the man's face and slit his throat in one easy motion. Then, without blinking, Mr. Todd sent the poet down to the basement. Noticing some blood on his sleeve, he frowned and pulled off the stained garment. After putting on a fresh shirt, Mr. Todd went downstairs.

* * *

" 'Nother pie, darling?" Mrs. Lovett asked, looking at Toby. She grabbed his plate and his glass.

"Yes, Mum. Perlease," he said.

Mr. Todd walked into the shop. Nellie turned around and smiled.

" 'Ello, love. Di' anyone come in thi' morning?"

"Yes, pet. A young poet. He should be down 'ere soon fer some of yer delicious meat pies. I told 'im you like poets."

"Ooh, yes. I do love me poets."

"I saw the supply truck for the pies pull in an' unload in th' basement also, love," Sweeney added with a smirk.

"Thank ya, love," Nellie said.

Mr. Todd sat across from Toby. "Are ya gettin' Toby 'ere 'nother pie?"

"Yes."

"Make me one too, pet."

"Yes, love." Then Mrs. Lovett left her two men in the shop.

* * *

Humming softly to herself, Mrs. Lovett walked into the basement. She set Toby's glass and his plate down and looked over to the left. The young poet was there, ready to be put in the grinder. "Me Mr. T. does a wonderful job," she murmured to herself.

Nellie walked over to the man. She glanced down at him, sighing. "Such a fine man," she whispered. Then she took his arms and dragged him over to the meat grinder.

All of a sudden the poet opened his blue eyes and looked up at the woman dragging him. "Bloody hell," he said.

Mrs. Lovett looked down and gasped.

The man started to twist and turn, trying to get away from the woman.

Nellie reached over and grabbed a steel bar and hit him in the head with it.

He passed out and Mrs. Lovett ran over to the door. "Mr. T.! Mr. T.!" she called nervously.

"Wot's th' matter, darling?"

"Can ya c'mere please?"

"Mrs. Lovett, wot's-"

"Mr. T., please!" she exclaimed.

Sweeney walked down the steps. "Wot's the matter?" he asked.

"We 'ave a problem."

"Wot's th' problem?"

" 'Im." Mrs. Lovett pointed to the unconscious man.

"Wot 'bout 'im? 'E's dead, i'n't 'e?"

"No. Jus' unconscious."

"An' you wan' me ta finish 'im off?"

"Yes."

The poet stirred and opened his eyes. He saw the barber and the woman standing over him, arguing.

"Jus' slit 'is throat 'gain!"

"No. I'll jus' stab 'is 'eart. Clean an' simple."

"Alright. Jus' be careful. If Toby sees th' blood…" Mrs. Lovett trailed off.

"Righ'. We don't wan' 'im ta know out lil' secret," Mr. T. said, bending closer to the poet. " 'Ello there, lad. Sorry 'bout this," Sweeney said, stabbing him in the heart.

The man gasped and his breath shortened.

* * *

A few moments later, Mr. T. left Mrs. Lovett to make the poet pie.


End file.
